Future of the Damned
by Nopride4531
Summary: When Merle went off by himself to kill the Governor, he knew full well that he wouldn't be coming back... But he never expected there to be a hostage involved. The fact that said person was his little brother only made the situation worse. An AU one-shot of 3x15 and contains spoilers. No slash whatsoever.


**Alright, so this is a one-shot that I decided to do as a result of a request from a friend. Hope you like it! T for language and violence. **

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It all went down hill the moment that stupid kid stepped in front of the Governor.

If only he hadn't moved the extra few feet. It all could've been over, done with, water under the bridge. Merle watched him fall and felt his stomach mimicking the action, unwanted bile rising up in his throat as the Governor snapped his attention to the building he was occupying. A calculating grin slowly stretched across the man's face and Merle prepared to retreat out the back door, already knowing what that sadistic smile meant and not wanting to be there for it.

He only made it an inch away from the window before his former friends ran in and wrestled him to the ground.

To say that it was easy for them to pull him into a chair and tie him down would be a complete lie. The bayonet-like blade attached to his arm gave them a run for their money and two of them ended up on the floor, blood and organs leaking from their slashed stomachs. But nevertheless, Merle was simply outnumbered and he eventually ended up on that damn rotting seat, hands bound behind his back and legs roped to the chair itself. He did his best to appear terrifying instead of terrified, yelling swear words and threats that he knew were empty.

But none of it would matter in a few minutes.

Because life wouldn't be worth living anymore for him.

He tried not to show the fear that sank into his chest the second the Governor stepped foot into the building, pausing a moment in the doorway to size up the situation he had control over. Merle watched him through wild eyes and felt the familiar sound of his pulse pounding through his head as adrenaline coursed throughout his body, a sudden urge to fight piling up inside of him.

"I ain't gonna beg, if tha's what ya want!" He shouted and Phillip slid his gaze over to him, that same smirk still on his face.

"No," he responded in an eerily calm voice. "I didn't think you would."

He stepped to the side and allowed Martinez to enter, dragging a man with a bag over his head behind him. Merle didn't even have to think about who it was. When you live with and take care of your family your entire life, you learn to recognize them by the blood that pumps through both of your veins, not their appearance. But there was still that one inkling of hope that perhaps his mind was just playing tricks on him, making him see the one person he cared about before he died.

This was proven to be false when the bag was ripped off and Daryl was thrown to the floor in front of him, too out of it from taking a crowbar to the head to fight. Merle thought his heart stopped behind his ribs and what felt like a snarling, rabid dog slowly surfaced. He clenched his teeth as the Governor walked over to his brother and pulled him into the chair opposite Merle, the smile stretching until it seemed as if it would snap his face in half.

But life had never been that kind to the Dixon brothers and it sure as hell never would be.

"I want you to suffer," Phillip growled and whipped his hand across Daryl's face, breaking his nose and splitting his lip. "For what I had to go through."

Daryl coughed and spat blood on to the ground, eyes searching out Merle's and looking for something, anything, that would tell him that they were going to make it out of this alive. But the only thing his older brother's gaze revealed was what he already knew.

They. Were. _Screwed_.

"I want you to know," the Governor continued and pulled his knife from its sheath and slammed it into Daryl's left shoulder again and again until the nerves were so shot that Daryl couldn't even find a reason to scream anymore. "What it's like to feel helpless when someone you love is in danger."

Merle struggled against his restraints, an age old instinct tearing through his mind that told him to do one thing and one thing only:

Protect his baby brother.

"But mostly, I want you to know what it's like..."

The sadistic bastard paused for a moment to pull his gun out of its holster.

"To have to beg for the life of the only person you give a damn about, even though you know that they're already dead."

And that's what it all boiled down to. Penny. The Governor's dead-as-a-doornail daughter...

He really didn't have anything to tie him to sanity.

"So go ahead Merle," Phillip hissed as the pistol steadied itself over Daryl's torso. "Beg me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martinez watching the horrific scene before him, unease written all over his face. Merle quickly looked back to the Governor, all bravado nearly forgotten and a look of hastily disguised panic in his gaze.

"You have five seconds to say something, you redneck trash."

But that was what the evil asshole wanted, for him to openly admit weakness and he'd be damned if he was going to.

"Five."

He was a Dixon. And Dixons never showed _nothin_'.

"Four."

The Governor was bluffing. He needed Daryl alive in order to keep his leverage.

"Three."

Nothing was gonna happen.

"Two."

"Merle?" Daryl asked in a voice that sounded so terrified that it was hardly even his own.

_Nothing_ was going to happen.

"One."

_It was all gonna be-_

The gun went off four times.

Sound faded from Merle's ears and was replaced by a high pitched ringing that wreaked havoc on his hearing. He watched as Daryl's pained, frightened eyes met his before his body slumped to the ground in a bloody heap. Merle pulled against the ropes that held him to the chair, desperate to run to his brother and fix him up like he'd been doing ever since they were kids.

But it was futile.

And he knew it.

He couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that the Governor was reloading his gun and aiming it at him. Couldn't even bring himself to raise his head.

And when the shots rang out, he honestly thought that they'd hit him.

But instead of feeling searing pain, he saw Martinez drop like a stone, followed by the other two assholes. Phillip whipped around and before he could even _think_ about firing his gun, ten different rounds of lead entered his body and he crumpled like tissue paper. As blood bubbled past the dying man's lips, he managed to let out a choked scream that was soon cut off when a katana was shoved through his forehead.

And then it was over.

Merle didn't even feel Michonne cut the ropes that bound him to the chair, barely felt himself get up. But the next thing he knew, he was kneeling next to Daryl, pulling him into his arms and searching for any sign of life at all. He checked for a pulse and, upon finding a weak but definitely there beat, gently shook his brother until he gave a small sound of protest.

"Daryl?" He asked, trying hard to keep a tremor out of his voice. No sense in terrifying the kid even more. "Daryl?"

Blue eyes that were not quite lucid slowly opened and met his own, a look of hazy confusion in them.

"We win?" He asked hoarsely and Merle cracked a small smile.

"Yeah, baby brother, we did. The Governa's dead."

"...Good..."

The exhaustion in his brother's voice scared Merle and he looked over to Michonne, who was noticeably trying not to be saddened by the scene before her.

"We gotta get him back t' the prison," he said and sword-wielding woman nodded, even though she knew that it was just an act of denial.

"Car's just outside, most of the walkers are dead... Meet me there in a few min-."

"I won' make it," Daryl protested and Merle snapped his attention back to him.

"Like hell, Darlina," he hissed and Daryl barely managed to muster up the strength to roll his eyes.

"You know tha' I won'."

"He doesn't know _shit_," Michonne said, surprising not only herself but also Merle by how much she didn't want the younger Dixon to die.

"We won," Daryl continued, losing energy by the second. "Tha' should be 'nough."

He turned his head to side and coughed, pretending not to be frightened by the crimson blood that leaked from his mouth. He felt his breathing snap into tattered gasps that were too short to be obtaining any oxygen and tried to tell himself that he'd already prepared for this, that dying would be as easy as firing an arrow into a walker's head.

But that just wasn't the truth.

Because he was absolutely _terrified_.

"Daryl?!" Merle yelled as his eyes closed and his glassy gaze was covered. "Hey! You stay with me, ya hear? Stay with me!"

The response was so quiet, so broken, that Merle wasn't even sure that he heard it correctly.

"...'m sorry..."

And then he was gone.

Michonne lowered her eyes and leaned against a bloody table, flinching when the older Dixon let out a tortured wail.

"Daryl God damn it, don't you give up on me!"

He violently shook him, desperate to get a reaction, anything that would tell him that what he was seeing was a lie, that his little brother wasn't dead. But nothing happened. Daryl's body remained still and as limp as a wilted flower.

"Daryl!"

Michonne sighed and walked over to the Governor's mutilated body, a look of grim satisfaction on her face. She grabbed the pistol from his dead hand, half expecting him to rise up and attack her, even though she knew it was impossible. She gave a good, hard kick to the bastard's ribs and made her way back to what she knew had to be done.

"_DARYL! You're not leaving me, damn it!"_

She took a deep breath and raised the gun at what would soon become a massive threat.

"_YOU'RE NOT LEAVING ME!"_

"Merle, get out of the way," she hissed and the destroyed man snapped his attention to her, eyes burning as hot as a forest fire when he saw the weapon.

"_The hell you doing?"_ He yelled and stood up, well beyond the point of caring if every walker in the area heard him.

"He's gonna turn," Michonne calmly stated. "...He wouldn't want to become one of those things."

Merle stared at her for about two more seconds before sinking back down to the floor next to his brother, putting his hand over his face in an attempt to hide the grief. Michonne nodded at him and raised the gun again, finger settling over the trigger to pull it...

"Wait."

She looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten before trusting herself to speak.

"What?"

Merle slowly lifted his head and stood again, ripping the pistol from her grasp and turning back to Daryl.

"I'll do it."

She watched as he knelt down and gently smoothed the hair out of Daryl's face, the grief in his eyes too much to look at.

"Get out."

The words were hard and unmistakably pained and at first, she didn't bother to listen to them.

But then he pointed the gun at her chest.

"I said _get. out._"

Slowly, she nodded and backed out the door, turning around to begin the short walk to the car, her katana rightfully in its sheath. When the gun went off, she paused for a moment and let out the breath that she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

And when the second shot rang out, she didn't even flinch.


End file.
